


Sneek a Peek

by GreatGawain



Series: Floyd Fun [4]
Category: Pink Floyd
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-12
Updated: 2020-06-12
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:46:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24673315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreatGawain/pseuds/GreatGawain
Summary: Roger shares some special drugs - and something else - with Richard. And why it doesn't bother him, he has no idea. (edited and revised from original dA submission)
Relationships: Roger Waters/Richard Wright
Series: Floyd Fun [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1772377
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11





	Sneek a Peek

August 12th, 1971  
First Pink Floyd Far East tour  
Australia  
11:00 PM

"THIS IS AN OUTRAGE."  
David slammed his book down on the backstage coffee table and stood up in a fury, whipping his long hair across his back as he turned his angry face. One of their roadies had just left the room in a hurry after relaying the rather... strange news of the night's attendance number, which was-  
"Five _hundred_ people?!"  
Nick was still seated on the couch, eyes wide in shock. "Did Peter really say...?" he muttered as he froze, mid-pull on the gloves still on his hands. He was completely taken aback. Roger shuddered against an annoying shamefulness rising in his chest and he even felt a bit angry himself.  
But David was beside himself.  
"There were _five hundred people_ out there tonight, Roger."

Their bassist scratched the back of his head and looked down at his feet, for the first time he could ever remember not having something to say in response.  
"Well, it's... quite a shock, isn't it..."  
_"QUITE A SHOCK?!"_ David screeched, his hands balling into fists as he took a few steps toward the man, who didn't look up – and it was probably a good thing he didn't.  
"THIS IS EMBARRASSING!"  
Roger winced at the word that always pricked his skin whenever he heard it and he bit his lip as, finally, arguments began flooding into his head - but he knew not to say anything, not just yet. He told himself David needed to let off quite a bit of steam right now.  
"I practically froze my bloody arse off out there for a crowd smaller than half my college class's size! How the hell do you expect we're going to make any profit from this tour when it costs more to put on a show than what we make in tickets?" David was pacing the same ten-foot-long strip of flooring back and forth now, working himself up the more he spoke about it. "We might as well tell the road crew that they'd best prepare to be out of work by the end of the year! We practically just did a show in a damn closet tonight; I haven't been on a stage that small since Joker's Wild!"

Roger finally turned his head up and looked David in the eye. "Look, I know it was a small venue. But it was cold, it was late, we're not exactly world-famo-"  
"FORGET THE BLOODY FAME!" David spat, stomping over to Roger in his black, heeled boots and stopping almost a foot away from him. "There's no excuse for that!"  
"Look David, I honestly don't know what you're so pissed about."  
"Oh you don't know, do you? Maybe it's because _I just said_ we spent so much fucking money on this tour, and so much preparation to travel to Japan and Australia for two weeks, to not even have a decent-sized audience!"  
"It was cold, Roger," Nick piped up. David looked at him for a second and then turned back, his blue eyes still flashing.  
"It _was_ cold. I'm surprised I only had to do _seven whole re-tunings_ through the entire show!"  
"I had to re-tune as well, ok?" Roger shot back, his eyes narrowing. "It's not like it was just you suffering."  
_“I know,_ I did half of them for you!”

It was then that Nick also stood up. "Excuse me. If I can have a word. You might not have seen me, but as I was sitting in the back, drumming away as good a beat as I could manage for you, I would like to point out that I managed to drop _four_ drumsticks tonight because my hands were so cold. _Four.”_  
David nodded enthusiastically. "Not to mention my fingers were practically numb!" the drummer added.  
"It was impossible to get comfortable," Richard practically whispered from where he sat slumped on a wooden chair in the corner of the room, dragging on a rather strong joint, head bent and feathery hair curtaining his face.

Roger looked from one face to the next. "Alright," he said quietly as Nick and David glared daggers. And Richard probably was too, from his isolated spot, but it was impossible to tell from where he was standing. He nodded. "Alright."  
David folded his arms and Nick scowled further.  
"I see we can't settle for the minimum anymore. Everything has to be perfect."  
Big mistake, saying that. The rest of the band exploded.

"Who said anything about wanting to be perfect?"  
"We're professionals! We're _supposed_ to settle for nothing less than the best!"  
"Isn't it our job to do the best we can possibly achieve?"  
"Correct me if I'm wrong, but we've only _just_ started making proper rock albums!"  
A brilliant argument ensued, Nick and David vomiting accusations and comments and Roger fighting back with snappy attitude and sharp comebacks. Richard, meanwhile, looked up through his long, layered hair and pretty eyelashes, and watched the fight. But he said nothing.  
The intensity and volume of the conflict brought in their manager along with one or two roadies, who had to physically break up the fight that was just starting to bristle among the three men, and it was obvious they would have gone to blows with the way they were pushing and shoving each other so roughly. Nick left as quickly as he could for the nearest pub in order to drown his sorrows in a good pint of beer, and David lingered only to hiss at Roger a few more last words before he scurried off to the hotel to sleep off his troubles.

And so, Roger was left with a pack of cigarettes, David's forgotten book, and Richard Wright.

When the others had left, he combed his long fingers through his shoulder-length brown hair, sighing exasperatedly, then brushed through his bangs as well. The low coffee table rattled loudly as his foot made swift contact with one of the legs. Roger sighed again and sank into the couch, picking up the hardcover book and flipping absently through it for lack of suitable entertainment. It felt like everyone was against him now; everyone in the band, at least. They were all angry with him, each of them.

Something was off.

Just sitting there in the room, Roger felt there was an imbalance of... something, in the air. He looked up from a rather interesting clause in the book and cocked an eyebrow, listening for anything that might give way to an answer.  
Nothing. Then he realized: he had forgotten about Richard.  
He turned around to visualize the man, who sat in the shadows in the far corner of the room surrounded in a light gray haze of pungent smoke. He was still huddled in the chair, unmoving except only to bring the rolled paper to and from his lips, an action he found quite graceful, and… he felt himself thinking it was quite beautiful. And why he thought that, he had no idea. Roger watched a few rounds of Richard exhaling the smoke before he felt like he was losing his mind, then stood up and walked a couple steps to the man.

He knew better than to bother someone who was already high, and from the looks of the size the joint had been at the beginning of their post-concert activity Richard was surely quite stoned by now, but Roger intruded anyway, for a reason he didn't know, and he tentatively placed a hand on the velvet blazer-clothed shoulder.  
Richard's eyes opened.  
He didn't move away from the contact, but he stopped smoking for a moment and sat still in the chair. Roger breathed a deep breath of the comforting aroma and moved to stand in front of him. He crouched down on one knee and tried to find Richard's eyes behind his hair but failed.  
"You still there, Rick?" he asked, waving his hand in front of the still body. He coughed on the now-overpowering smoke and waited for an answer, but when he was met with silence he defeatedly stood up again.  
Finally, Richard slowly moved his arms from his lap and unfolded his legs as he rose to his full height.

Roger made sure to keep his actions slow and steady in case his band mate was in a less than pleasant state of mind. He moved his head from side to side again, still trying to find Richard's eyes, but his hair was too long to see through. Gathering up his courage, he brought his hands forward and brushed aside the strands of soft hair.  
Richard fluttered his long eyelashes and looked up, and Roger felt his heart catch in his throat.  
He was so beautiful in the thick clouds of smoke, and with his stoned, yet gorgeous, blue eyes lit up by the dim dressing room light. Roger thought he had never seen anyone more elegant.  
And why he thought that, he had no idea.  
But before he could move away and scold himself for thinking such thoughts, Richard mimicked Roger's actions and brought his own hands up to caress the bony cheeks with his soft, warm fingers.

Roger felt himself blush a hot red, but at the same time, he felt his entire body tingle. It felt _good_. And wrong.  
_What the ruddy fuck, it's RICK_ , he thought to himself. Nevertheless, he was frozen in place, as he had been in the cold weather he had endured onstage just a few hours prior.  
Finally, he felt he had to say something. He tried to take his focus off Richard's glazed, hazy eyes and make his voice work, but his heart raced and his mouth somehow wouldn't open. Eventually he managed to force himself to speak.  
"R- Rick... what... how high are you?"  
Richard leaned in close to Roger's face, and right when he was close enough to kiss he slowly moved his fingers to the full lips and placed the joint between them. He hadn’t blinked once since they made eye contact.  
"Breathe," he said.  
Roger pulled on the joint. The look in those eyes… it almost frightened him. For more than one reason. And why it frightened him, he had no idea.  
"Now close your eyes."  
Roger did as instructed, and as he exhaled the smoke, a remarkable thing happened. In the black behind his eyelids, he saw vivid, neon bright colors appear from nothing and incredible patterns forming from them. He saw animals and fire and trees and plants and water and _wind_ he actually _saw_ the wind blowing through the leaves and creating waves on the water and making the fire dance and rustling the birds' feathers and the animals' furs and causing them to run and jump in excitement. He saw swirling, pulsating patterns on their bodies and surfaces where texture details should have been, and everything changed color and morphed endlessly into something different. He could feel his eyes start to fill with tears over how magnificent everything was but he wasn’t so entranced to allow them to fall. 

Roger opened his eyes and was amazed to find the colors were still there, but he began to lose his balance and he gasped and stepped back in shock, suddenly unable to see anything but the hallucinations. He felt something grab his arms from in front of him, and suddenly a mouth was pressed to his and he slid his eyes closed once more as he reached forward and gripped a soft coat and moved his mouth with the one that was kissing his. He wasn’t sure how long the sweet-tasting lips had been gently caressing his own, but he didn’t care and didn’t want it to stop. In that moment he felt better than he had in a long time – maybe ever. He had only taken one hit off the joint, but it must have been some potent leaf because he already felt he was weightlessly dancing on clouds. As he felt a tongue slide through his lips, he watched the colors and patterns gradually dissolve away and return to black.

The mouth finally moved away, something in the farthest reaches of his mind longingly protested, and Roger slowly opened his eyes again as he panted, heart racing, and looked up to see Richard in front of him. He almost jumped to realize-  
"Did… did you just...?"  
"Marijuana soaked in LSD," Richard interrupted, wiping off a speck of ash from Roger's cheek with his thumb. "Contact to the lips ends it."  
"Oh..." he replied, slightly disappointed. But why he was disappointed, he had no idea.

"Wait, weed soaked in... Is that even possible?"  
Richard was much more sociable now, and Roger figured it was because their interaction had brought him out of his long illusions. "I don't know, but apparently it is. It's what I was told, anyway."  
"But why does it have to be lip contact?" That part confused Roger. It didn't make any sense at all to him. Why would it matter where physical contact was received on the body during a trip, or… whatever that experience had been?  
Richard coughed. "Dunno, it just works."  
Roger shrugged and joined him where he had moved on the couch, mostly because he wanted to sit down and give his lightly-trembling legs a rest, but partly because he wanted to be with Richard. And why he wanted to be with him, he had no idea.

"Where did you get it?"  
He shrugged. "It's been passed around by people. A friend got it from a friend who knew someone around and that sort of thing. I met with an acquaintance shortly after we got here."  
Roger nodded thoughtfully, his eyes not leaving the roach in Richard's pianist's fingers. He sat thinking about how one could soak pot leaves in acid, and if it actually worked or not. Something prohibited him from believing that it worked and that was what it was doing. But his experience had certainly seemed real…

Roger closed his eyes and tried to clear his head. It was too much to figure out. He stood up and went to grab his winter coat, and after a brief moment of thought picked up David's book as well. He decided to be nice enough and return it to him, maybe as a sign of peace. He then turned around to where Richard was looking at him from the couch.  
"I'll see you at the hotel, then?" he said, more as a farewell than a real question, and was about to leave when he heard a "Wait, Rog," and he turned back around to see Richard hurrying over to him.  
"Yes?"

Richard took Roger's wool jacket from his hands and placed it on the back of the couch. Its owner watched in confusion, and he was about to protest when the other stepped forward, wrapped his arms around Roger's waist and kissed him again.  
Roger was surprised once more, but strangely, he didn't protest. And why he didn't, he had no idea. But instead, against his better judgment, he moved his lips against Richard's, moaning when their passion increased and he intertwined his fingers into the smooth, brown hair. It felt so _good_ between his fingers, and he groaned loudly when he felt his crotch beginning to ache. He softened into Richard's embrace with ease and didn't even question his morals as he dove right into his savory tongue and delicious mouth. It just satisfied the gnawing hunger for some show of affection that he needed right then after the huge fight he has just endured with the other half of the band. He pressed himself into Richard's body and pulled him closer, never wanting to let go, never wanting to taste anything else but his lips.  
And why he didn't, he had no idea.

After an even longer make-out session than the last (which hadn’t been a brief affair either), Roger pulled off his friend and looked at his face, suddenly remembering something.  
"You... you didn't take a drag off that since I did..."  
Richard nodded, licking his lips. That mysterious look in his eyes had returned and was piercing his heart straight through the middle, though now Roger wasn’t so sure it was completely indecipherable.  
"S- so... why did you..." he gulped. "...Why did you do that? There was nothing to end..."  
Richard moved in close and pressed a very gentle kiss to the dumbstruck bassist's lips.  
"Oh, Roger..." he whispered, sending shivers down the man's spine. But what Richard said next gave him an even more difficult time.  
"The kiss does nothing to end the trip. It's useless."

As the words fell upon his ears Roger wasn’t the least bit offended.

And why he wasn’t, he knew _exactly_ why.

**Author's Note:**

> Having experienced both drugs mentioned since the time of writing I am very much aware that this is not a thing but the concept is cool huh~ Who doesn't want to see wind????  
> Heavily revised for clarity and grammar but mostly the same, originally written 2012ish so... well you know~ (And no the title is not a typo)


End file.
